


Dummy Love

by hongbab



Category: VIXX
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9774335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongbab/pseuds/hongbab
Summary: The kiss is comforting and familiar–one of the few things Hongbin doesn’t have to think much about while doing it, because it’s been so long since they first kissed that he has already learnt the way Wonshik kisses by heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended song: The 1975 - [Sex](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xeDGfk0UJw8)

Hongbin wakes up with a pounding headache threatening to push his eyeballs out of his skull, and his mouth dry like he ate sand the night before. He tastes the remnants of alcohol–too similar to how nail polish removers might taste–, his stomach making a strange move at it, and his eyes snap open.

The ceiling spins around slowly; ugly, old chandelier rotating above him like a disco ball, making him dizzy. There’s an arm on his chest and a leg entwining with his, warm puffs of breath hitting his shoulder through the fabric of his T-shirt. The rhythmic, soft snoring that floats about in the room gets interrupted by a muffled whine, and Wonshik buries his face even more into Hongbin’s arm. Hongbin scoots away towards the wall as much as he can, shaking Wonshik off like an undesired insect before he sits up, shutting his eyes tight.

His limbs feel numb, and he thinks: what if his veins are clogged by all the toxic things he consumes? He has no energy to panic, only gets out of the bed, leaving Wonshik now hugging the blanket they shared behind, supporting himself by the wall as he shuffles into the bathroom.

He pushes up the lid and seat of the toilet, falling to his knees in front of it. A small laugh escapes him, no reason, no joke–he’s still drunk. He throws up the mixture of beer, tequila, vodka and probably other spirits he doesn’t remember drinking; transparent liquid being the result of not eating at all the day before.

He has no idea how much time he spends with his head hanging above the bowl, saliva dripping from his chin before he wakes up realizing that he fell asleep with his cheek pressed to the cold porcelain. He takes a shower and brushes his teeth, gets dressed, and pads out into the kitchen to brew some coffee. He steps over pieces of scrambled eggs on the floor, examines the frying pan with burnt food on the bottom, blinks curiously at the black tatters of a dish towel damaged by fire, and the memory of Wonshik’s laugh as he tried to put the fire out with a can of vanilla coke invades his mind, makes him smile.

He sits on the windowsill with a mug of coffee in one hand and a freshly lit cigarette he doesn’t even want to smoke in the other, his bare feet dangling in the air four stories high. He hears Wonshik’s steps and his not-so-subtle yawn, but doesn’t say anything, only watches cars move on the road below like colourful bugs. He soon feels the warmth of Wonshik’s naked chest on his back as Wonshik snakes his arms around his middle, nuzzles his head against Hongbin’s shoulder blade and sighs.

“What time is it?” he mumbles, voice husky and nasal, it cracks in the middle of the sentence.

“Half past 3.”

Wonshik groans and reaches out for Hongbin’s mug, pulling it towards himself under Hongbin’s arm. He takes a few careful sips of the hot beverage, gesturing around in the kitchen while struggling to swallow. “We made a huge mess,” he says, handing the mug back to its original owner.

“You have to stay and help me clean up,” Hongbin replies, stubbing his cigarette out on the underside of the windowsill before flicking the butt away.

Wonshik laughs, rich and warm even though he looks just as bad as Hongbin did before his shower: smudged eyeliner, chapped lips, dirt stains on his neck, hair sticking out in every direction. “I don’t think you want me to help,” he says, leaning close to press a kiss to Hongbin’s temple. He turns around, and drags himself out of the kitchen with Hongbin’s “You’re an ass!” following him, at which Wonshik lifts his arm and, without looking back, flips him off.

Wonshik has barely swallowed the last bite of the sandwich Hongbin made him when he’s already on his feet, stepping to the door. He looks down at his white sneakers and seems just as surprised as Hongbin feels when he finds them covered in dried black mud, murmurs: “Whatever was in the trench we were lying in.” He puts them on nevertheless, turning back to Hongbin when he’s done. “Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you some food?”

“I’ll be fine,” Hongbin grumbles.

“I’m sure Taekwoon wouldn’t mind cooking for three people though,” Wonshik says, touching Hongbin’s shoulder kindly.

“I am not a child, Wonshik.”

“I know, just… eat something, okay? Promise me."

"I don't make promises, you know that very well.”

Wonshik looks deflated, his shoulders sagging a little. He takes a deep breath and kisses Hongbin on the lips, not getting any kind of reaction in return. He smiles sadly in the way he always does whenever they end up sleeping together–that happens about every other day.

“I’ll pick you up at 11?” Wonshik asks.

“Yeah.”

With that, Wonshik leaves.

Hongbin doesn’t do much all afternoon. He cleans up in the kitchen, changes the bed sheets, and organizes the clothes Wonshik has over for nights when they only find the way to one of their homes. He discovers a cup of instant noodles in a cupboard and eats half of it at 7 p.m., pouring the leftover into the toilet, falling asleep listening to music on his bed a few minutes later.

He sits on the windowsill at quarter to 11 with a plastic bottle of orange juice infused with so much vodka he gags every time he takes a sip, and waits for Wonshik.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he feels anger creeping up from the pit of his stomach when he thinks Wonshik might be calling to cancel tonight, because no one ever calls him but Wonshik–and he’s right.

“Yeah?” he asks, gulping down some of his poisonous orange juice.

“Do you want me to catch you?”

“…What?”

“I’m right under your window,” Wonshik replies, chuckling into the phone. “I’d catch you if you jumped.”

“You wouldn’t,” Hongbin says, leaning forward and glancing down: he notices Wonshik under the pool of light coming from a streetlamp. He’s wearing a snapback hat, so Hongbin can’t see his face, but he’s probably beaming like he usually is when he looks at Hongbin.

“I would.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Probably not,” Wonshik laughs again, and then, softer: “Come down if you’re ready.”

“I’m always ready.”

“You never are.”

Hongbin ends the call (they call each other for free like a married couple), and leaves his crappy apartment in the crappy building it is situated in, only to step onto the pavement in the crappy neighbourhood he lives in.

Wonshik pulls him in for a hug, and pecks Hongbin’s cheek, Hongbin trying to wriggle out of Wonshik’s hold.

“Don’t touch me,” he grumbles.

Wonshik leans in, his lips moving against the shell of Hongbin’s ear, breath smelling of cheap whisky and coke. “You’ll be begging for it in a few hours.”

Hongbin elbows him in the side but says nothing, because it’s true–he feels blood filling his cheeks as embarrassment washes over him.

Wonshik talks about an asshole customer he had to serve the other day at the clothes shop he works at, and Hongbin laughs so hard he gets teary-eyed, and that makes Wonshik snort loudly. They throw their bottles into the metal trash can in front of the club, Wonshik’s, made of glass, breaking into pieces, making them both giggle.

It’s the same dull, meaningless beat pounding through his body as yesterday and on Wednesday and a week before, yet Hongbin feels ecstatic from it. He grabs Wonshik’s lower arm and drags him inside, to the middle of the dance floor, even though Wonshik is shaking his head, smiling.

“Let me drink some more,” he yells into Hongbin’s ear.

“You’re already drunk enough!“

"No, Hongbin,” Wonshik tries to pry Hongbin’s fingers off his arm gently, but Hongbin digs his nails into Wonshik’s flesh too hard. “Please, let me.”

“Why can’t you just stay here?” Hongbin whines. “Don’t you want to be with me?”

Wonshik opens his mouth just to close it right after, lacing his fingers with Hongbin’s, pulling him in the direction of the bar.

“Do you need water?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Hongbin slurs back.

“Anything to drink?”

“I can order for myself if I want.”

“Vodka?”

“Yeah.”

They knock back two shots each, and then stagger out to smoke, Hongbin closing his eyes as he leans back against the wall. The darkness is moving under his eyelids, his head lolls to the side, and he takes a drag of his cigarette, coughing.

“Don’t smoke any more,” flows Wonshik’s voice, barely decipherable.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Wonshik takes the cigarette from between Hongbin’s fingers, and guides him back into the building with an arm around his waist.

Hongbin can’t feel anything–the pain from his ankle where he hit it the night before has disappeared. He grins to himself, lets a group of girls move closer to them, dancing together like you do when you’re drunk and feel like every person at a club is your friend. Wonshik keeps his gaze on him though, staring as intensely with his unfocused eyes as he can, and Hongbin wouldn’t even care if Wonshik didn’t kiss him in the next moment.

There’s a hand on his neck and another on the small of his back, pulling him close and caressing his skin, Wonshik’s thumb pressing down on the pulse point under his jaw. The kiss is comforting and familiar–one of the few things Hongbin doesn’t have to think much about while doing it, because it’s been so long since they first kissed that he has already learnt the way Wonshik kisses by heart. He knows the feeling of Wonshik’s small lower lip between his incisors, and the tiny laughter that bubbles up from his throat when their teeth clash; how he holds Hongbin tight when they unconsciously cross the line between playfulness and desires, when Wonshik pulls lightly at his hair and breathes into his mouth, struggling for air.

“I don’t like it when you do this,” Hongbin says, drawing back, relying solely on Wonshik’s arms around him to stay steady.

Wonshik nuzzles the spot where his neck joins his shoulder, hooking his finger into the collar of Hongbin’s shirt, pulling it back to be able to bite down, melting Hongbin’s bones momentarily.

“Yet you always kiss me back,” Wonshik murmurs into his ear, voice nearly drowned out by the music. “Where do you want to sleep tonight?”

“Yours.”

Wonshik kisses him again, too gentle even when Hongbin slips his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, fingers tearing at his flesh through the fabric.

They stumble into Wonshik and Taekwoon’s shared flat a few hours and three tequila shots later, Hongbin almost toppling over his shoes, only being able to stay on his feet as Wonshik catches him. He holds Wonshik’s hand and leads him into his own bedroom, falling onto the mattress heavily, the springs poking his back, but he doesn’t care. Wonshik climbs onto the bed as well, laughing, smiling, drunk; he takes his hat and T-shirt off, throwing them away.

He is on his hands and knees above Hongbin, nosing along his jaw, nibbling on the skin so softly it’s barely noticeable. He clumsily unbuttons Hongbin’s shirt, kissing every patch of freshly exposed skin, sucking a hickey on one spot, just a few inches above an older one that hasn’t yet completely faded away from Hongbin’s fair skin.

Hongbin lets Wonshik peel his clothes off, leaving him only in his underwear, and watches lazily as Wonshik gets rid of his own jeans. He pinches the skin of Wonshik’s waist between his thumb and index finger while Wonshik fumbles with his belt, smiling sweetly when Wonshik hisses in pain.

“Why do you hurt me all the time?”

Hongbin hears the question but thinks he’s imagining it (it’s easy to convince himself when he’s this drunk), so he stays silent as Wonshik lies down on the bed, ushering Hongbin to straddle his hips. Hongbin bends over, fingers fanned out on Wonshik’s chest as they kiss, shudders when Wonshik’s hands slowly crawl up from his hips to his shoulder blades. Hongbin’s back dips so that he can feel Wonshik’s palms slide against the bones, muscles and sinews under his cold skin, earning a low moan into his mouth from Wonshik, the other’s cock twitching against his thigh.

Hongbin kisses Wonshik’s neck, licking off his cologne and sweat, his trembling fingers tapping at the tattoo under Wonshik’s left collarbone.

“Binnie,” Wonshik whispers, restless, his hips bucking up, strained cock meeting Hongbin’s. “Are we going to– Please, don’t play with me, I’m– I want you so much.”

Hongbin presses his lips to Wonshik’s, Wonshik’s tongue pushing past them like he wants to devour him, but Hongbin breaks the kiss, breathing hard as he rests his forehead on Wonshik’s breastbone.

“I can’t,” he says, and his voice sounds deeper, hoarser than Wonshik’s has ever been.

“But you’re hard.” Wonshik replies, desperately reaching into Hongbin’s boxer shorts, fingers wrapping around his cock.

Hongbin lets out a broken groan, his stomach shaking and heart drumming furiously in his ears. His grip is weak on Wonshik’s wrist, teeth scraping Wonshik’s chest when he involuntarily thrusts into his hand.

“Wonshik, no. I–I’m going to come, you… can’t do this to me.”

“It’s okay,” Wonshik says, running his free fingers through Hongbin’s hair. “Just let me do this, alright? It doesn’t have to be more now.”

Hongbin shuts his eyes tight for a second, tries to resist, but it requires too much effort. He lifts his head to look into Wonshik’s eyes, and sees diamonds sparkling in his black irises, brows knit in painful concentration.

Hongbin grinds down, lets Wonshik jerk him off, swallows hard when Wonshik can’t keep his moans in anymore. He arches his back, dragging his nails down Wonshik’s chest, tipping his head back so that he won’t have to see the emotions written all over the other’s face when he comes with a loud cry.

Wonshik strokes him through his high, his hand only disappearing from Hongbin’s cock when Hongbin’s shudders die down. Wonshik’s hips move against him as he strokes himself, grabbing Hongbin’s shoulder, whispering his name, and coming with a final sob.

Hongbin climbs off Wonshik–sticky, dirty, upset. He wants to stand up and head into the bathroom, but Wonshik pulls him back by his waist, holding him close enough to be able to press kisses to the back of his neck and the bumps of his spine.

“You’re mad at me,” he says simply.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because–” Hongbin pulls away and lies on his back. “Because I didn’t want this.”

“You’ve been toying with me for so long, Binnie.”

“I’m not toying.”

“I’m in love with you.”

Hongbin’s breath hitches in his throat, and he blinks a few before carefully looking at Wonshik. The other is watching him intently, his gaze caressing Hongbin’s face, making him feel like he’s worth more than he actually is. This feeling scares and angers him; he doesn’t know how to handle it when he knows he’s not at all as valuable as Wonshik thinks.

“You look like you’re hearing this for the first time,” Wonshik smiles, “but I’ve told you so many times before.”

“And I’ve told you–”

“I know. You’re not in love with me.” Wonshik sighs. “But you confuse me every day with the way you behave, and I always end up believing that you might have feelings for me. But… don’t you, Hongbin? Have feelings for me, I mean.”

“It’s not…” Hongbin runs a hand over his face. “It’s not something I enjoy either. I’m just so– I’m so lonely. Wonshik. I feel so alone.”

Wonshik furrows his brow. “I’m here for you, I’m–”

“Not the way I want it,” Hongbin replies, fury making his voice raspy. “You’re simply not the person I can imagine myself with.”

Wonshik’s expression changes from flabbergasted to deeply hurt in half a second. Hongbin sees the tears welling up in his eyes, and feels wrong in a way he’s never done before: there’s no remorse, no sadness, no regret inside him as he watches Wonshik’s heart shattering behind his pupils. He’s not hollow like he imagined he would be when he finally has to reject Wonshik for good. He feels nothing apart from the satisfying finality of the whole thing.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he says coldly.

He stands up, but before he could take a step, Wonshik asks: “But you won’t… leave me. Right? Please, don’t leave me.”

Not a stir of his emotions as he listens to Wonshik beg.

“I won’t.”

There’s relief in Wonshik’s tearful eyes, and hope in the shaky breath he takes when he smiles at Hongbin.

Hongbin turns away, knowing that he will have to repeat this a dozen times in the future.

He doesn’t feel sorry at all.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to talk to me about any of my stories or just vixx in general on [tumblr](http://hongbab.tumblr.com/), [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/hongbab) or [aff](http://www.asianfanfics.com/profile/view/1061753) ♡ please support me on [ko-fi.com](https://ko-fi.com/hongbab) if you can ♡


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